


Book 1: Water

by Lenticular



Series: Avatar Noatak AU [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Avatar!Noatak, Bad Parenting, Brothers, Detective Story, Gen, brotherly shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenticular/pseuds/Lenticular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Noatak; son of Yakone, bloodbender extraordinaire and the Avatar born following the death of Aang. And of how he, with his brother, escaped their father and set off on the path to become a fully realised Avatar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Mother

They named her Aga - ‘mother’ in the old language - because the soft doll they first gave her, she had cradled like a child while still blind and at her mother’s breast.  
  
She had grown up a conscientious girl, helpful with her siblings, dutiful to her parents, sitting in the healing hut with the old women once she found she was a waterbender, and in between uses of her name, they would call her ‘little mother’.  
  
It had felt prophetic at the time, but as the years passed, there was no betrothal necklace carved for her. She came into her twenties without a courtship, and when her parents left the growing Capital for a quieter place, a hamlet out east, she followed, ever dutiful, and quietly relinquished hope that her name would come true.  
  
She whiled her time away, making friends, helping with netting and found, to her pleasure, that her healing was much sought after. They had waterbenders, three of them, but all of them male; no one to mend a broken bone or a sprained joint. So, Aga passed into her thirties.  
  
Then Suluk arrived.  
  
He came from the west, from the Capitol, but no one knew really where before that, though his clothes were of a cut Aga had never seen before. His hair, grey with age, was kept in Triple Tracker Tails, and though his face was hard, his eyes were warm when he smiled at her.  
  
The courtship was short, and she treasured her betrothal necklace as if it was carved from jade, not bone.  
  
She told him she was with child only half a year after their wedding. Finally, Aga’s name was coming true, a life growing in her womb, and Suluk’s joy was bursting.  
  
She named him Noatak; ‘the river that provides’. She did not think she could love anything as deeply as the baby cradled in her arms then. She stayed awake the full night, just watching her son, her sweet fulfilled promise, in wonder. The dark, chubby cheeks. The fuzz of brown on his head. The mouth and nose, so tiny, so perfectly formed. The intricate artistry of his tiny nails. And she thought, _yes. Yes, this is what I was meant to be_.  
  
When news of Avatar Aang’s death reached their tiny town, Aga’s life was full of her swiftly-growing son and his demands. What did the Avatar matter out here, anyway?  
  
When Noatak was three, he bent water for the first time. Suluk was overjoyed. They had watched for it; after all, Aga herself was a bender, and though Suluk was not, he had the talent in his family.  
  
And the day after, Tarrlok was born. Aga let Suluk name him, and after some floundering, her husband stammered his suggestion. She laughed and teased him about such a silly name, but Tarrlok it was, and Tarrlok was entirely hers. Noatak was a bright, energetic child, one who took to waterbending like a turtleseal to water and dashed off for the unknown with little thought, but Tarrlok clung to her from the moment his blue eyes first focused.  
  
It was good. It was perfect. Aga was content.  
  
And then, one day in Tarrlok’s second year, when Noatak had returned from a waterbending lesson, Aga watched them play fondly. Her needle was a soothing rhythm in one of Suluk’s parkas; though a pearl, through the fabric, back up. Noatak was shaping delicate iceflowers for Tarrlok’s amusement.  
  
As Aga was born for motherhood, she thought, so Noatak was born for brotherhood. There had been no jealous tantrums, no malicious teasing. He had seen his newborn brother and fallen in love.  
  
“Look, Tarrlok,” Noatak said, and a rose with petals so thin they ought to crumble bloomed in his hand.  
  
“Flower,” Tarrlok said, grabbing for it with a chubby hand. It melted in his fist. He didn’t even have time to pout before another froze into being, and he giggled, bringing a bright smile to Noatak’s face.  
  
“Now,” Noatak said, and the flower dissolved into mist, “now look at this.”  
  
Tarrlok, eyes wide, leaned forward to see his brother’s latest trick. And squealed with shocked delight when a flame burst into being in his cupped hands.


	2. The Bad Old Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years later...

His father was merciless. Noatak had learned this even before he learned that ‘Suluk’ was a spectre, an invention to cover ‘Yakone’, back when the man’s cold cruelty was channeled only into harsh words to Tarrlok, before the...  
  
Well.  
  
 _Before._  
  
That was Noatak’s life now; there was the Before, the mythical yesteryear of laughter and happiness and the unending comfort of being loved and protected, now so long gone that, on dark nights, Noatak feared that Tarrlok couldn’t even remember those times.  
  
Somehow that thought chilled him to the bone.  
  
Now, of course, there was only After.  
  
 _After._  
  
 _After_ that night around the fire, when the lives of his brother and himself were laid out before them. Where their souls were plotted to a course of their father’s design. Where, for the first time, Noatak learned to doubt his father’s love.  
  
 _After_ the first full moon, when Noatak felt blood run in a frightened animal, felt its heart pound in fear, felt its muscles tense in agony. The first night where Tarrlok cried himself to sleep, and Noatak could only listen, helpless.  
  
 _After_ , when the only brightness that Noatak was allowed was the creature who had huddled to his side one day. He had woken after a night filled with blizzards to find an almost-infant snowkoala tucked against him, dark eyes pleading at him when he jerked away.  
  
Grudgingly, Yakone had conceded that the creature was, in all likelihood, Noatak’s animal guide and allowed his son to keep him. Noatak had named him Iqniq; ‘bright meteor’. A spot of light in the dark.  
  
At least he was never forced to bloodbend Iqniq. Yakone had that much consideration.  
  
Oh, but the man who called himself their father had been proud. There was plenty of pride in After. But the love was gone, and Noatak no longer remembered what it was to feel safe.  
  
“Beat them with their own weapon,” Yakone had said with a sick smile, and Noatak still remembered the nausea he had felt.  
  
Somehow, over the years, the bitter taste of bile could almost be mistaken for triumph, and Noatak learned to tell himself that the gnawing at his gut - the empty, roiling sickness - when he forced an animal to heel was pride. He was good enough to fake it, at least for a while, and he almost convinced himself.  
  
The day he realised that he’d convinced Tarrlok was the day he had tried to run away. When, one evening, his brother shied back from him, blue eyes hooded and distant, face pinched in fear, something snapped and he ran, forgetting even Iqniq who had watched him go with knowing, wet eyes.  
  
He might have gotten several miles, perhaps only a few hundred meters, it hadn’t mattered. Yakone had brought him back, large hand - once, once Noatak had found that comforting - curled in his eldest’s parka.  
  
Thrown into his tent, awaiting his punishment, Noatak had curled up on himself.  
  
“Noatak,” Tarrlok had whispered from the shadows. “Noatak, I’m sorry.”  
  
“Why’re you sorry?” his brother demanded, sitting stiffly. Then he saw the bruise stretching from ear to jaw on Tarrlok’s face, the dried smear of blood beneath his nose. “You told him,” Noatak said numbly.  
  
“He came looking for you,” Tarrlok said, hunkered down as if trying to hide. “He made me say which way you’d gone. I’m sorry.”  
  
Noatak watched him, this frightened little child, his brother and traitor, and felt anger and resentment fill him in equal measure. Stupid, frightened, weak little Tarrlok! If he could have just kept his mouth shut--  
  
 _Tarrlok shying back, his eyes shielded, his face pale in fear._  
  
The anger went away, and the resentment retreated to a simmering ashen pile in the bottom of Noatak’s heart. “I should have taken you with me,” he said instead. “I’m sorry. I just... couldn’t stay.”  
  
His brother looked up, all tears and bruises, and said, “But you have to. You can’t leave me, Noatak. And we can’t leave Mom, not with him!”  
  
The resentment gained more heat, but remained low, and Noatak looked away from him sharply. “I suppose,” he said, voice tight. Iqniq rumbled low on the other side of the tent-wall, unnerved by the chill in Noatak’s voice.  
  
“I’m--” Tarrlok said, then fell still like a frightened sparrow-hare at the sound of Yakone’s footsteps. He withdrew into the shadows of the tent and, almost without noticing, Noatak shifted to hide him from view of the entrance.  
  
The massive form of their father knelt there, a smoking bowl cupped in his hand. “Drink it,” he told Noatak sharply.  
  
“What is it?” Noatak said and made no move to take it.  
  
Yakone’s face clouded, and Noatak recognised the signs of violence brewing like a distant storm. Reluctantly he reached for the bowl.  
  
“Drink it,” Yakone said again. No more.  
  
It smelled sweet, cloying. Noatak took a breath and downed it quickly. It stuck in his throat like slime.  
  
The smile on Yakone’s face when he took the bowl back did nothing to calm Noatak. “There’s a good boy,” said the man who thought himself a father. “Now, you won’t be running away again, will you?” He chuckled and stood, not bothering to wait for an answer.  
  
The brothers listened to his footsteps crunching their way back to his own tent.  
  
“What was that?” Tarrlok whispered finally. Shifting outside, Iqniq’s head poked into the tent, asking the same question with his eyes.  
  
“I don’t know,” Noatak said and wondered if he should try to vomit it out. He half turned, looked at his little brother over his shoulder. “I won’t leave you,” he said. Tarrlok looked so ridiculously relieved that Noatak wanted to punch him. He turned back around, felt a heavy dullness behind his eyes.  
  
He’d stay for Tarrlok’s sake, because that’s what big brothers did. And, unchecked, that resentment would smolder and catch and turn to deep-running hatred unless something changed. He clenched a fist, glared at the entrance, felt his eyes slip shut.  
  
He only realised he’d fallen back when he heard Tarrlok’s alarmed noise, Iqniq’s shocked grunt and felt something soft catch him. Forcing his eyes open, he looked up at his brother.  
  
“What did he give you?” Tarrlok whimpered, and Noatak couldn’t answer.  
  
He’d stay, and he would learn to hate and hide his hate, because rather Tarrlok bear his hate than Yakone’s triumph.  
  
The world faded into uneasy dreams to the sound of Iqniq’s whines.  
  
Every night since then, Noatak would drink the draught of the sleeping willow root, and Yakone knew that his precious weapon stayed right where he left it. To Aga he claimed it was medicine, to help their eldest with his recurring nightmares.  
  
On some nights, Aga even brought Noatak the draught herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worst dad Yakone, amirite?
> 
> And full credit for Iqniq goes to my partner. When I was flailing helplessly about what animal guide Noatak should have, they started brainstorming up ideas for me to use. For the record, a snowkoala would be a big furry thing that looks something like a cross between a yak, a polar bear and a koala. The more you know.


	3. Dying of the Light

When Noatak was fifteen, he was the greatest bloodbender who’d ever lived. Tarrlok knew this because Dad went to great lengths to tell them, and further to point out exactly where Tarrlok fell short in comparison.  
  
But for all his brilliance, for the years of ceaseless attempts, Noatak could produce no more fire than the flame he’d once conjured to amuse Tarrlok. He couldn’t move the cold earth revealed in summer. And, while Yakone wasn’t interested in it anyway, Noatak couldn’t summon a measly puff of wind.  
  
Some part of Tarrlok felt almost gleeful at these failures, but he quickly suppressed it, let the guilt gnaw at him. It wasn’t Noatak’s fault that Tarrlok was a waste of waterbending chi. Besides, his brother didn’t enjoy his elevated status, that much was clear.  
  
A withdrawn chill had grown in Noatak over the years, something that had started with the bloodbending, then solidified with the nightly draughts. Something distant. Unearthly.  
  
“Stop staring at me like that.”  
  
Tarrlok started, curling up on his bed. “Sorry,” he mumbled into his knees. “I was just thinking.”  
  
Once Noatak would have teased him about that. Something like, ‘careful with that’ or, ‘a dangerous pastime’. Now he just grunted neutrally, changing into his sleeping clothes with sharp, efficient movements.  
  
Tarrlok could feel a slight, worried pout cross his lips. Then Yakone strode through the partition dividing their beds from the rest of the home, cradling the bowl like it, not they, were his child.  
  
There were no words. Noatak simply took it mechanically, tilted his head back, downed the steaming liquid. Yakone’s slight smile, almost proud, made Tarrlok feel sick. The whole thing played out like some perverse mockery of a religious ceremony. An offering given to the Avatar and accepted without question.  
  
“Sleep tight, boys,” Yakone said, but his eyes were fixed coldly on his eldest. Why not? Tarrlok was meaningless compared to the finely honed weapon that was Noatak. “Tomorrow’s another hunt. About time you learn to bloodbend a human.”  
  
They both looked up at him sharply, Noatak suspicious, Tarrlok terrified.  
  
He simply smiled at them in a way he probably considered soothing. “Don’t worry. You know each other so well, it’ll come easy.”  
  
The implications hit them both as Yakone disappeared through the partition, and Tarrlok could feel his throat close up in fear.  
  
He watched his brother sit heavily, head down. No. No, he’d worry about the hunt tomorrow. Noatak looked so hopeless, so lost that Tarrlok grabbed onto a memory from earlier in pure desperation.  
  
“Why...” he started, then paused, glanced at the partition. Noatak didn’t look up at him. “Noatak?”  
  
“Hn?”  
  
Tarrlok shuffled to sit on the edge of his bed, lowered his voice, “I read some of Dad’s books today. They said... they said that Avatars can talk to previous ones.”  
  
Noatak looked up. His eyes were already bleary, the light of alertness gone. “Oh?”  
  
“Yeah. Have you... I mean, has anyone talked to you?”  
  
A deep sigh, then, “No. No one. I haven’t heard anything.” Noatak slumped back to lie on his bed, hand grabbing at the edge convulsively, the only sign that the conversation unnerved him.  
  
“Oh,” Tarrlok said, picked absently at his nails. They were dirty, he noticed with some dismay. He looked at his brother again. Noatak’s eyes were closed and, as Tarrlok watched, his hand loosened and dropped off the bed to dangle in mid-air. It felt like watching someone die.  
  
“Good night,” Tarrlok whispered, felt the bitter taste of tears caught in his throat.  
  
There was no answer. Noatak was long gone.  
  
Tarrlok laid down on his bed.  
  
And then he didn’t.  
  
Instead of the dim, greyish ceiling, he looked up at a roiling sky the colour of the Northern Lights, crooked black branches curving into his view, and instead of pelts and blankets, he felt hard bark against his back.  
  
Tarrlok jerked up to sit, eyes wide and only growing wider when his feet dropped into lukewarm water.  
  
It stretched out around him and his moss-covered log, a murky fluid expanse, broken by gnarled black roots and strange plants he’d never even seen in books. And, past the trees, nearly lost in the bubbling sky, the vast silhouette of what looked most of all like a giant wolf lumbered by.  
  
“Tarrlok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOH, CLIFFHANGER.
> 
> Also, I should note, this story does lighten up. It's not going to be this grim all the way through. It's just hard to put in moments of lightness and joy when you've got the main characters being terrorised by their father. Don't worry, it'll get better.


	4. Avatar Aang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirit world.

"Tarrlok."

With a low yelp, the boy flung himself off to the log, immediately sinking knee-deep into the water, looking around wildly for the origin of the voice, trying to draw up water for weaponry. It wouldn't budge! Why couldn't he waterbend?!

And then he found the source of the voice and fell still, trying not to gape.

He'd seen this man, in the old, yellowed paper-clippings Father kept hidden away, bringing them out only to show Noatak and Tarrlok the source of all their misfortunes.

"Avatar Aang," he found himself stammering.

The man smiled at him, warmly, kindly. Was he... was he standing _on_ the water? "Don't be frightened," the man said. "You're in the spirit world. I'm sorry I had to do it like this, but your brother is beyond me. I must go through you. After all, I know I can count on you."

Tarrlok shifted nervously, felt the water shift around him, out of his control. "What...?"

"Watertribe siblings," Avatar Aang said, and broke into a grin so dazzling Tarrlok nearly smiled back. "I've seen it before. Brave little brother, I need you to help Noatak, and I can think of no one better. Would you help me?"

Tarrlok thought of his brother, of the light dying in his eyes, of a hand dropping from the edge of a bed, and nodded. "Yes!" Then, slightly sheepishly, "Help with what?"

The smile faded on Avatar Aang's face, and he rested a hand on Tarrlok's head. It felt heavy and warm; wholly alive. The boy was reminded of his brother which, when he thought about it, wasn't so strange. "I heard your father's plans," Aang said. "I've let much pass from Yakone's side, more perhaps than I should have, but the Avatar bloodbending his own brother... no. I can't let that happen to him, and I can't let that happen to you."

Tarrlok shifted, uncomfortable and awed. He'd always known, deep down, that bloodbending was wrong, but for a twelve-year-old boy, gentle by nature, his father's voice was stronger than his own moral qualms.

Getting confirmation of the cruelty, getting _concern_ , from the man who had taken his father's bending, it bordered on overwhelming.

The hand fell away, and he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked instead.

"I need you to run," Aang said gently. "Wake your brother, as much as you can, and run fast and far; you need to be clear of Yakone's reach by the time he wakes."

Tarrlok's determination wavered, and he bit his lip. "But... my mom..."

"Can your mother save you from your father's plans?" Aang said, though his words were gentle and his eyes filled with infinite sadness at the answer he knew he would receive.

Tarrlok's eyes dropped to the murky water, and he could feel the heat of held-back tears. Noatak, he knew, was angry at their mother, angry at _everything_ , but Tarrlok couldn't help but see her as another victim of Dad's monstrous reach. To leave her with him...

"Poor child." Aang sighed. "What I'll say is cruel, and it was just as cruel when it was said to me, but it's true none the less: you're a gentle spirit, Tarrlok, but this isn't about you. It's not about your mother. It's not even about Noatak. This is about the world, and the world needs its Avatar."

Tarrlok hugged himself, and that warm hand touched his shoulder. "If Dad catches us... he won't just make Noatak take the medicine."

"He won't catch you," Aang said. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be asking this of you. It's not fair to put this burden on you. But there is no one else. You're brave, Tarrlok; braver than you know. And Noatak's going to need that bravery."

Tarrlok stared at the water, till Aang gently urged his chin up.

"Tarrlok," the Avatar said, "it's the _right_ thing to do. And whatever else your father forces you to be, you've always been righteous at heart. You need to run before he tears that out of both of you."

That, at last, made Tarrlok meet his eyes and nod sharply, lips set in a stubborn pout. "Alright."

The dazzling grin was back, and Tarrlok thought he might have liked to have known Aang while he was alive, though not at the cost of Noatak. "Good," Aang said. "Listen carefully. Firstly, you must think of speed. Once you and Noatak are safe, you must journey to Republic City in the United Republic, and from there, find Katara. Repeat the name...?"

"Katara," Tarrlok echoed dutifully. "I know it. Dad told us she outlawed bloodbending." He figured he might like Katara too.

"That she did," Aang said with warm affection. "She was my wife. She'll look after you, and make sure that you're both safe. Are you ready, Tarrlok? You must move quickly; every moment counts."

"I'm ready," Tarrlok said, voice firm and thin shoulders squared.

"Brave boy," Aang said, and touched the child's forehead.

And Tarrlok was back in his bed, looking up at the darkened ceiling and feeling pelts and blankets beneath him.

Not a dream; his sleeping clothes were still wet where he'd stood in water. Quickly, then. Not allowing for doubts or hesitations, though they pulled at the edge of his thoughts, Tarrlok rolled silently out of bed and pulled yesterday's clothes back on. And, frightened or not, his mind had already plotted out his course of action.

Firstly, he packed extra clothes, both his and Noatak's, and tiptoed to the pantry to gather up dried jerky and seaweed.

Secondly, he snuck out of the house, into the ramshackle hut housing Iqniq. The snowkoala grunted at the sight of him, long claws digging at the ground. The beast had grown huge and, to most people, terrifying, but Tarrlok had helped Noatak nurse and train him. Tarrlok shushed him now and, with a wince at every clink of the harness, set to buckling Iqniq up and tying the supplies down.

Thirdly, the hardest part. He crept back to Noatak's bedside, and tried to gently shake his brother awake, but to no avail. Tarrlok glanced nervously over his shoulder, listened for the steady snoring from Yakone and counted three breaths before he dared, in a low whisper, "Noatak! Noatak, wake up!"

His brother shifted, groaned, and looked at him with sleep-heavy eyes. "Wha'ssit?"

"We need to go," Tarrlok whispered. "Right now! I spoke to Avatar Aang in the spirit world!"

"Don' b'sill'," Noatak muttered and made to turn over. Tarrlok yanked him back.

"I did! We need to run away!"

The incongruity of Tarrlok wanting to run finally seemed to make it through the drug-addled haze, and if the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have found Noatak's expression hilarious.

"Away...?" Noatak repeated, confused.

"Yes," Tarrlok hissed. "Right now. I've packed our stuff, got Iqniq ready. You just need to get dressed."

With what was probably an immense effort, Noatak sat and let his legs drop over the edge. "M'clothes," he managed, reaching out mechanically.

Tarrlok half suspected his brother thought it was a dream, but if it got him up and outside, it didn't matter. He handed over the clothes, then snuck to the main-room, paranoid with fear and listening intently to Yakone's steady breathing. It seemed to take forever before Noatak finally stumbled up beside him.

"Wh- where're we goin'?" Noatak whispered.

Tarrlok grabbed his arm, leading him outside quickly to where Iqniq greeted them with a pleased huff of breath. "Republic City," he said, all but shoving his brother onto the snowkoala. "We need to look for Katara."

Noatak made a sleepy noise, slumping onto his animal guide. Barely a moment passed before he was asleep. Tarrlok sighed and heaved himself up behind him. "Quickly, Iqniq," he whispered to the snowkoala. "Head west!" And, with a light prod and a guiding touch, the animal set off in a loping run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Aang. Not even gonna lie.


	5. The White City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival at the Capitol.

Tarrlok was soundly asleep and drooling on the back of Noatak's parka when they reached the the borders of the Northern Capital. Noatak tugged at Iqniq's mane, bringing him to a halt, and watched the city with wide eyes. Once, many years ago while Tarrlok was still too small to walk, the family had travelled to the great spring market in Arnook, and back then Noatak had thought that nowhere in the world could hold more people. Everywhere around them the crowd had been milling, talking, shouting, laughing.

The Capitol, even at a distance, was teeming with life ten times of what Arnook had held.

A vast, white city, bordered on three sides by the cliffs on which the three now stood, and on the fourth by a large inlet shimmering in shades of blue and icy green, and above it all towered a many-tiered palace inscribed with the seal of Yue and La. The vast paths leading down into the city, carved into the rock face itself, were nearly as densely packed as the city.

"Nnf," came a small grunt behind him, and he felt the weight of Tarrlok's head lift from between his shoulder-blades. "Noa...?"

"We're here," he said.

Tarrlok strained and looked over his shoulder. "Wow," he breathed reverently. "Look at all those people...!"

"There are a lot," Noatak acknowledged. His hands tightened nervously in Iqniq's mane, and the snowkoala huffed slightly, skittish. "So," he said, "what's the plan?"

With a small huff, Tarrlok fell back in the saddle. "Avatar Aang said we had to get to Republic City and find Katara. So... I guess we need to find a ship?"

Easier said than done, but Noatak felt slightly better for having a goal. He gently prodded Iqniq into motion and, with some trepidation, the trio moved towards the teeming masses. "Right. A ship. Fix your hair."

Tarrlok made a dismayed little sound when he realised his hair was still sloppily braided for bed. Noatak could feel him twist, and tried to ignore the occasional elbow in his back while Tarrlok was brushing out his hair.

By the time they reached the wall around the Capitol, Tarrlok was putting away the brush again. Then gasped audibly as they came through the gate. "Noa, look at it...!"

"I'm seeing it," Noatak breathed.

The Capitol wasn't just white - it was fashioned entirely out of ice; blindingly white buildings facing broad, dark canals full of seawater. Someone yelled behind them, and Noatak realised, with a start, that Iqniq had stopped. He turned the snowkoala down the wide path running along one of the canals and nudged him forward.

"Do you think it never melts?" Tarrlok whispered against his shoulder.

"Doesn't look it," Noatak said. The ice looked, somehow, old. More like a glacier, but carved into fanciful shapes and buildings.

Equally carved bridges spanned the canals, emblazoned with crests of the half-moon, or the ocean, or the two fish circling each other. And the people; granted, somewhere in the back of his mind, Noatak knew that fashion was never going to be a concern in their home hamlet, but here the parkas were fitted, the fur was groomed and the intricate hairstyles put even Yakone's Triple Tracker Tails to shame.

They moved aside, a crowd of blue and white, curious eyes fastened on Iqniq and the boys riding him, and Noatak found himself sitting a little straighter in response.

"We should head for the docks," Tarrlok said behind him. He sounded ridiculously giddy, and didn't even try to look dignified.

"Sit up straight," Noatak said back over his shoulder. "And which way is the docks?"

"Well," Tarrlok said with an entirely unnecessary amount of brotherly snark, "I'm guessing they're in the direction of the ocean."

Noatak very deliberately did not respond to that and set towards the bay as if he'd intended to go that way all along. Tarrlok snickered slightly.

The city was a revelation for two sheltered boys from the eastern reaches past Arnook. In the space of a single block, they saw more food on display than what their village had eaten in a month. Ocean prunes, seaweed bread and noodles hanging off racks, fish so fresh it was still gasping for air; stacks of brambles Noatak had taken for fire-starters till he realised it was sweet-root, something he had tasted exactly once.

The boats travelling the dark canals were no sturdy hunting boats; these were finely dyed and decorated, embroidery along their bound edges like something off of Noatak's finest parka, the one he wore on the winter solstice festival. And instead of workers and prey, they held bundles of laughing children, or old women chattering amongst themselves while reclining on pillows or, with an appropriate chaperone, young unmarried couples.

It was like something out of a fairytale; something Noatak had heard of, but never seen, something he hadn't even believed was real. At least, he supposed, he wasn't twisting in the saddle like a bumpkin to take everything in, unlike certain little brothers.

"Sit down!" he snapped over his shoulder.

"Aww," Tarrlok muttered, and Noatak could hear the pout, but he settled back down in the saddle.

Eventually, however, the ornate buildings gave way to a vast plaza, and if what they had seen before could keep the village for months, what spread before them now could have ensured that no one back home would ever have to hunger again. Noatak felt his jaw drop. Everywhere was not only food - they even had turtleseals lying in rows, butchers digging into the meat, carving off slices and offering it up - but boats on massive racks for display, skins in great piles, ready-made clothes, jewelry, jars, furniture...

It was more wealth than Noatak had known existed. But, with unerring precision, he found his eyes drawn to the edges of the plaza, past the booths, where thin, dirty children looked hungrily at seaweed laid out to dry; old men with no arms or legs, and burn scars covering their visible skin, held out pleading hands to passer-bys. Nearby, in a stall where a finely garbed woman hawked woven rugs, behind her sat another woman, hunched and in rags at a loom, and Noatak's senses tingled at the redness of her hands; she'd woven her hands bloody.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forced himself to look away. What was he supposed to do? He was teenage boy, just as poor and starving as any of the ones stalking the edges of the market, and if not for Iqniq, he and Tarrlok would easily have passed as a pair of street children themselves.

But it was the Avatar's duty to _help_.

"Noatak?" Tarrlok said, his voice low and cautious as if he felt the struggle in his brother.

Drawing in a deep breath, forcing himself calm, Noatak managed a, "What?"

Tarrlok pointed, and Noatak looked; there, past the endless rows of stalls and milling crowd, large ships towered up above the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So has anyone else ever noticed that the Snow Bros have ridiculously good hair? And classy-as-hell sideburns as grown-ups; Tarrlok's little Mr. Darcy things, and Noatak somehow manages to make them giant '70's chops look really good.
> 
> I have absolutely nothing to put as an author-note; does it show?


	6. Madam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys find a ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning Madam; she's heavily inspired by similar characters in the vein of Agatha Christie's books and similar writings, so that should give you a clue to what'll be happening for at least a few chapters ahead (there's a plot! I know, I was amazed too!).

The ships were impossibly big up close, and all the more fascinating. Some were large monstrosities of unpainted steel, decks closely packed with boxes, while others wore cheery colours, and sported large wheels on their sides. With only a bit of eavesdropping, they had found their way to the docks servicing ships bound for the United Republic.

"We found the ships!" Tarrlok said, sliding of Iqniq. "See? Wasn't so hard!"

"That's great and all," Noatak said, somewhat acidic, "but how the hell are we going to get on one? Even if we'd taken some money back home, it wouldn't be near enough for tickets!"

Tarrlok considered the teeming masses, lip pooched out in a pout. Then he smiled slightly. "Leave it to me," he said to his brother.

Before Noatak could protest, Tarrlok had slipped into the crowd, sharp eyes missing nothing. It was a dull human drama, only on a scale that a provincial boy like Tarrlok had never seen before. Tired parents corralling in their children, a gibbering man in a wheelchair with a tight-faced nurse pushing him, a young couple off on their honeymoon surrounded by well-wishers, and another young couple who, from their shifty looks, were probably eloping to escape disapproving parents.

He was on the verge of giving up and finding a way to take matters into his own hands when he saw the perfect opportunity.

An old woman, a widow by the look of her tightly braided bun, waiting to board. She still wore her betrothal necklace, carved - as far as Tarrlok could see - of white jade, and her fur coat was smooth and brushed to a silky sheen. She was trailed by an impressive entourage of not-as-rich but still finely dressed men, and several embroidered bags of luggage. And if none of that would have done for Tarrlok's sharp mind, the officer smarming at her, assuring her of a quick boarding, certainly convinced him of her wealth.

And right there, while the lady and her following were distracted by the smartly dressed officer, a weaselsnake-faced man was dipping into one of those fine bags as if his hand belonged there.

Tarrlok absently wondered if spirits could be that helpful. He donned his best dolefully earnest expression, the one that had convinced Dad, at least for a while, that Tarrlok really was that hopeless at bending, and rushed through the crowd.

"Excuse me!" he called, his voice high and honest. "Excuse me, ma'am! Behind you!" The old lady glanced at him, and the officer seemed on the verge to shoo him away, so with a last burst of speed, Tarrlok knocked into the would-be thief, pushing him away from the bag and sending a bracelet flying through the air, the stones on it catching the cold winter sun in a barrage of sparkles.

The lady near choked before crying, "Thief! Grab him, don't just stand there!"

A wall of uniforms suddenly appeared, or so it seemed to Tarrlok anyway who was less than pleased to know how many there really were, and grabbed the man before he could even regain his balance. Tarrlok swooped down on the bracelet, brushing it off fastidiously before presenting it to the old woman. "Sorry," he said with just the right touch of embarrassment. "I didn't mean for it to get dirty."

"There's no need to apologise, young man," she said, accepting the bracelet. The colour slowly returned to her cheeks, and she smiled down at him. "Thank you. You've managed what none of the people I've hired could do, apparently!"

There was an awkward amount of shuffling as several people tried very hard to look like she meant everyone but them. Tarrlok beamed sweetly up at her.

She looked him over, and he knew exactly what she saw, like looking at himself through her eyes. Hollowed cheeks, not much but enough; a dirty and threadbare parka, boots that were falling apart at the soles and ragged fur lining with a few clumps missing. And somehow Tarrlok knew what to respond even before she'd talked again.

"Your parents should be proud of raising such an honest, young man," she said, a hint of prodding in her tone.

"Oh," Tarrlok said, letting his face fall, "we're orphans. It's just me and my brother."

He saw the look on her face, it almost seemed, before she made it, the way she nodded as his words confirmed her suspicions. A ragged street-child who, despite his hard lot in life, was honest and helpful and clung to what family he had. Pity stirred in her eyes as he knew it would.

"Here, let me give you a bit of money for your good deed, then," she started saying, and Tarrlok was already shaking his head, eyes wide and mouth pursed.

"I couldn't!" he insisted. "Not for doing the right thing! You don't need to give me anything, ma'am! Except, maybe..." Her brows rose slightly, and the beginning of suspicion crossed her face, so Tarrlok forged ahead, bright-eyed, "Do you know where we could get some cheap tickets for the two of us? We want to go to Republic City, you see, 'cause we have an aunt there. We've got 75 yuan!" Tarrlok beamed, well aware that that couldn't buy room for luggage, but letting none of it show.

The suspicion waned and once again pity came to the fore. "Oh, dear," she said, "oh, little one, that's not nearly enough for even one ticket, I'm sorry."

"Oh," Tarrlok said and glanced towards the beggars lines up against the wall. He caught Noatak's eye; his brother was, with sharp gestures and dark looks, asking what the hell he thought he was up to. Tarrlok turned back to the lady, head hanging. "Oh," he said again, voice broken and disappointed.

A wizened hand rested on his shoulder, but when he looked up, the old lady was turned to the officer. "I don't suppose you have cabin boys on board," she said imperiously.

The man looked slightly ashen under his tan - now that Tarrlok took a closer look at him, the fellow was obviously Earth Kingdom - and shook his head. "Certainly not, madam! Cabin boys are an old custom, and it was always more of a Fire Nation tradition than-"

"Malarkey!" she cut him off. "I think I should like a pair of cabin boys, someone a little fresher faced, and certainly sharper, than what I already have. Tell me, boy, are you and your brother both good workers?"

If Tarrlok hadn't lived twelve cruel years under Yakone's tyranny, he would have jumped for joy. As it was, he nodded, wide-eyed. "Oh, yes, ma'am! We're very bright and- and we're waterbenders too!" Noatak would be angry at that, but Tarrlok could read the old woman like a book, and that innate Watertribal awe of those blessed by Yue shone for a moment in her eyes.

"Excellent," she said. "You'll be coming with me, then. Now, make no mistake, young man, you'll be earning your keep." She looked very pleased at the way Tarrlok was nodding. "What's your name then, lad?"

"Tartok," said Tarrlok without hesitation. It was the name of the one friend he'd made before Dad had intervened, sprung from the way their names rhymed. More importantly, it was easy to remember. Then, after a moment of quick thinking, "My brother's name is Noatakmiut. I just call him Noa."

"I should think so," she laughed. "Some name for a little boy!" She patted his head, stroked back a few locks come loose from his tails. "I am Kirima; you may call me Madam."

* * *

 

Once she had taken to Tarrlok, Noatak barely had to do more than smile and greet her politely to slide in smoothly alongside his brother in Madam Kirima's affections. So much so that she barely blinked when they brought up the third member of the party, and she was quick to arrange for Iqniq to find a place among the cargo.

By the time they had been shown to her cabin - a damn suite, all decked out in furs and carved bone - and installed where, usually, a few of her scurrying minions would reside, Noatak was beginning to look somewhat gobsmacked. When they were alone for a moment, he turned on his brother, staring at Tarrlok as if he was something alien. "How did you do that?!"

Tarrlok just grinned and shrugged, mostly because he wasn't even sure himself, and his uncanny understanding of Madam's mind almost spooked him. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Well, yes," Noatak admitted, "but _why?_ "

"Dunno," Tarrlok said and tested the bunk bed he'd claimed. "But at least we'll get to Republic City in style."

The older brother looked around their cozy little niche, with its bunk beds and shelves and carpeted floor, and looked as if he feared the whole thing would vanish before his eyes.

"Relax, Noa," said Tarrlok. "Let's just enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this whole idea came about after reading those endless theories on how Amon might be one-fourth Avatar or any of the other crack that came along before the finale. May or may not have been spurred on by one too many joke about how much of a square Noatak would be as the Avatar; that remains to be seen.


End file.
